


Burn

by Birdgirl90



Series: Selfcerts: For Her [5]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Female self insert - Freeform, Other, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-05-14 14:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5747461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdgirl90/pseuds/Birdgirl90
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which you realize how good a beard can be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies!  
> Time to give Venom some love, and that beard of his. ;)  
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> ~Birdie

You lie, head in his lap, something not of consequence on the television in front of you. The audience laughs to some antics of the Fonz, and Venom chuckles, deep and warm. You suppose you should watch the characters that have his eye, but you can't stop staring at the rugged man in front of you. He's so handsome with that piercing blue eye that carries compassion and fire, his nose that's almost comical and yet fitting, those scarred lips that kiss you so sweetly. And his beard, god his beard; thick, brown with silver strands, the kind that tickles as it leaves a red trail in its wake.

You can't help yourself. He's lightly invested still in the show, and that smile on his face makes you so warm, your insides slowly burning like a flickering candle.

You reach up, lightly trace the underside of his chin. His beard is rough beneath your fingers and you scratch it lightly, like you would a dog behind its ears. The sound of rustling hair causes you to shiver.

You have his attention now. Venom looks at you with his blue eye, amused, waiting to see what you do next, your nimble fingers still tracing and scratching beneath his jaw. You grin up at him and he mirrors you, a glint of desire growing in his deep cerulean eye. Your hands reach even further, trace along the thick coarse hair that lines his jaw, his cheeks, as he lets you, sighing and leaning into your fingertips, his desire growing acoss his face, the slow candle in your stomach growing, roaring gently into a steady fire.

He’s had enough of your teasing and in a matter of quick movements, you’re straddled on his lap, facing him as he wraps his ever strong and firm arms around your waist, his hands tracing the dip in your lower back. You continue your adminstrations with careful eager fingers, running hands up and down the familiar scratching scruff, burrowing those fingers into his softer hair behind his ears, still surprisingly thick after all these years.

Venom growls in your ear, low and nearly feral, the scent of leather and cologne and everything good from the earthy summer outside filling your head. You take a sharp intake of air as his lips dance along your throat, the burning on your neck matching the burning in your body, your hands pulling him impossibly closer, the light whiring of his mechanical arm as it traces up your back nearly inaudible thanks to your quiet sighs and his increased breaths.

When those bearded lips finally work their way up and crash against yours, you moan into them. It stings as it tickles, the bittersweetness of his most recent cigar dancing along your tongue as he explores you for the hundereth, no thousandth, time. His mechanical hand tangles carefully in your hair, the joints practiced at not catching, the strength enough to pull your head back slightly, lips breaking as his half lidded eye meets yours, glazed and filled with want, need, but waiting for you. 

You sigh and grab his leather coat collar, and he lowers you carefully into the couch, his weight balanced above you, clothes unceremoniously on the floor in a heap, fingers tracing every curve of your body as you claw at him, trying to pull him closer. He can never be close enough for you just like you can never get enough of his hot, wet lips as they travel down your breastbone, your stomach, your hips, all the while his beard burning and scratching in all the best ways, causing you to writhe in pleasure and pain and desire all at once.

He rests his head in the crook of your neck as he positions between your legs, throbbing heat meeting pulsing core, his beard scratching and rubbing with each thrust until it’s too much and you cry his name as he shudders above you. He knows your weakness and while still between you, inside you, he rubs his beard deliberately against your neck, your shoulder, words of love and praise spilling from his lips as you giggle beneath him.

Somewhere, in the distance, the audience from the television you both forgot to turn off mingles with your breathless laughs and his resonating chuckles as he kisses your forehead before wrapping arms around you once more.


End file.
